


Skee-bal

by tatooedlaura



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:20:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27497083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooedlaura/pseuds/tatooedlaura
Summary: Because one can only take so much before Skee-bal becomes a necessity ...
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 23





	Skee-bal

He’d had to haul ass through the airport, dodging everyone and their irritating, unsupervised rolling suitcases and then, huffing and puffing from lack of oxygen, discovered his flight was delayed by an hour at least. He’d dropped his phone in the hurry, four pieces retrieved in the end, one lost under a maintenance door he didn’t have time to find a guy with a key to open. Now, jammed between two men who had to be linebackers for the Broncos, he prayed in some form for as much alcohol as the stewardess could legally allow him.

He got a bag of pretzels and a Sprite.

Linebacker A to his left sneezed towards him.

The uncovered Sprite went untasted.

With the way his life had been going for the past week, this was actually one of the better moments, sadly enough.

Some kind of asinine weather completed his travels, slowing down flying speed and landing possibilities, circling for 45 minutes before hitting the tarmac fast and bumpy, an enlightening nightmare for everyone in the plane but Mulder, who was sandwiched so solidly between Linebacker A and Linebacker B that he never moved an inch, forward or to the side. Wanting to kiss the ground when he finally stepped off the concourse, he hefted his backpack instead and headed to baggage claim.

We will not talk about the incidents at baggage claim except to say that ‘motherfucker’ was repeated silently in his head a multitude of times.

Car, street, traffic, home!

Only to see his tux still hanging on the closet door where he’d left it a week ago as a reminder that he had a party to go to.

The only thing that made him not want to die about this impending shindig was Scully … Scully in a fancy dress … Scully in a fancy dress drinking fancy liquor and eating fancy food and he’d better get in gear or else she’d be looking all fancy but be pissed as hell inside because he’d left here there unprotected from all those people she really didn’t want to spend her Friday night with.

Although they were Smithsonian uppities so she’d have plenty of conversation fodder but no one to rescue her when she got that look on her face he knew only too well.

Regardless, he hurried, showered, shaved, spritzed and shimmied until he looked like a million bucks and some change, finally pulling up to the National Museum of Natural History fashionable late.

&&&&&&&&&&&

She’d had better weeks … but in the grand scheme, she hadn’t been shot at so in the end, it wasn’t a terrible seven days by any means.

Then again, when Ritter had shot her, she’d at least gotten to sleep in.

She’d been up and out the door every morning at 5am, coming home after midnight, hating with a full on passion anyone and everyone who wasn’t Skinner. The paperwork nightmare had avalanched, Mulder not there to offer an answer to her questioned where involving this witness testimony or that scrap of receipt that the entire case hinged on. She couldn’t bother him, knowing he’d just say, “um, maybe behind that thing that related to the other thing or in that drawer,” and send her on a wild goose chase with the thing she needed being neither in the drawer nor behind the other thing but in fact, still in his coat pocket.

Plus, if she called him, he’d go off his game. He’d be thinking about the case she was asking about instead of the serial nightmare he was trying to imprison until the end of time plus another month just for fun.

So, she left him alone.

Mind you, they had talked every day since he left but usually only after hours, discussing useless things and nonsense, Scully doing her best to quiet his mind so he could get some sleep, think about the questions he needed to answer and the problems, inherent, that came with those answers. She could feel him, across the country, calm, relax, begin to drift off with slow words and slower breaths, eventually telling him a quiet goodnight and an even quieter sleep well.

But now, knowing he’d be landing in 37 minutes, she, for reasons undwellable in that sliver of time, took a little extra care with her makeup, her hair, twisting that escaped curl into an oddly perfect position, knowing he’d move it when it began catching on her eyelashes while she talked to him, tuck it back, linger a moment, turn red when he realized what he was doing, linger another second then remove himself to a safe distance, drink, talk, return to the beginning of their recycled game.

She held the fantasy for .4 seconds then moved to find her shoes.

&&&&&&&&&

Standing across the room, she saw him come in, do the standard ‘stop and scan’, hope to zone in on his partner, catch the subtle red-hair, pale skin amongst taller, irritatingly grouped men in black.

Men in black.

He was a man in black tonight.

He was amused.

‘Cause … you know … men in black.

Wow, he really needed a nap or a drink, whichever came first.

But on Scully’s end, she saw him unable to find her, turn the wrong direction, head polar opposite to what she figured correctly as the food tables. When he couldn’t find her, he always headed to the next best spot, knowing she’d show up eventually, given he knew her stomach just as well as she did. About to head his way, she wasn’t paying close enough attention and the accosting took her by surprise, finding her suddenly surrounded by four gangly employees whom she had worked with many times and were, from what she could comprehend given her mind was still on Mulder, asking her if she’d like a tour of the archives downstairs.

The boys were nice, polite but slightly overenthusiastic about all things insect, vertebrate, legged, winged and taking into account how much they had helped her and Mulder over the years, she felt a tugging obligation to follow, listen, offer interest in all the proper places when she really wanted a rum and coke and to talk to Mulder.

But she was some kind of decent human being so she gave her tour guides almost an hour before she begged off, claiming starvation and need to circulate for the good of the FBI, her boss, the world in general.

They were just happy they got to show off for her.

&&&&&&&&&

It was indeed a fancy dress and by the time it sidled up beside him, he had seen it, cataloged it, burned it into his memory for all eternity. The partner wearing it wasn’t bad herself, a smile creeping across his face slowly but surely as she walked towards him, scooting in beside as opposed to across the table like normal partners would.

He was very glad they weren’t normal partners.

“So, where have you been hiding?”

“Kidnapped by McMaster, Philips, Squeegie and Tom.”

Sliding his drink into her waiting hand, “you need this more than I do.”

Grateful for the share, she drank, then, “they showed me the archive … downstairs.”

“Downstairs? Sounds ominous. You should have let me tag along.” Shifting his head down towards her, “any of them work up the nerve to ask for a date yet?”

“Squeegie took a deep breath and said ‘Agent Scully’ but then stopped, started sweating and proceeded to lecture for 20 minutes on Acherontia Atropos. It’s the closest he’s gotten so far.” Finishing off the last swallow of his slightly watered-down drink, she looked at him critically, “we should go get some more of those.”

With a grin, “you go grab some food, I’ll get the drinks and meet you back here in two minutes.”

“Deal.” Tugging at his jacket, “leave this here so people know the table’s claimed. I don’t need anymore irritating small talk tonight. I’ve done enough.”

Removing the coat, “back in a flash.” Flash indeed, minute forty-five to be precise, beating his partner by two minutes, able to watch her return with several heaping plates of nibbling nonsense, balanced alone by some act of God, given the height of her heels and the alcohol just beginning to tease her system. He knew it, could see that shine in her eyes and wanting to smile wider than he already was, he held it in, instead reaching out to take a plate, “I beat you back.”

“I had to fight for the last meatballs for you. Hopefully, I didn’t leave a bruise on Dennison.”

He honestly, for half a second, wondered if she was serious but then she waved a toothpicked piece of meat under his nose and he didn’t care anymore. Taking it, devouring it, proceeding through three more, he finally slowed, “how’s your drink?”

“Empty. Thanks for bringing me two.”

“Just don’t slam this one or I’ll be pouring you into bed later.”

And he watched her fumble her salami encircled cream-cheese attempt at filling food, nearly dropping it to the table before she recovered with a stutter, “I’ll … I’ve never … I do not slam drinks, Mulder.”

“Okay, little Miss empty glass.”

Hardly in a spot to deny it, given the empty glass in front of her, she shrugged those well-defined, muscle-sculpted shoulders to throw him off his own game a little then nudged him with her foot, “did I tell you you clean up pretty well?”

“You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

“Not too bad?”

Leaning over, leaning in, leaning down, “give me a little while and there’s a really good chance I’ll be telling you that you are the most beautiful person in this room, probably DC and possibly the world.”

That was a nice shot of warmth through her system and trying to keep her voice even, “little while?”

“Need some more liquid courage. Give me 20 minutes, tops.”

“I think you said it just fine without the liquor or the time limit.”

Warming himself, he returned to the plates, fully ready to eat his way through the pile of cheese, “just help me eat some of this, would you?”

With a smile, she did.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Skinner found them shortly after, then several others they’d worked with on occasion, both happily and irritatingly but Benson took the cake, berating Mulder, belittling Scully and, in the ultimate gesture of asshole-ness, grabbing her ass.

No one saw the ass-grabbing but they definitely saw Scully’s wrist grab, arm-twist, drop that fucker to the ground before she broke his shoulder move a moment later. Leaving him in a whimpering pile of crumple suit and tears, she calmly returned to her drink, fourth now by Mulder’s count, third by hers but who cared given he had never been so proud, feeling the need to cheer, to clap, then kick Benson neatly into next week.

Once Benson had been removed and things had returned to stifling party norm, Mulder came back in close as he had earlier, whispering in the general direction of her ear, “I know just what you need.”

Still feeling phantom hand on real ass, she didn’t care what the hell he might have been implying with that loaded statement, she just knew she was going to follow him and she might as well not beat around the bush, so, with a nod, pointing towards the sea of empty glasses in front of her, “I’ll be needing one of those to go.”

“I don’t think they have lids and straws.”

Already moving from the table, “well, we’ll figure something out.” The moment she moved, she winced, “but regardless, I need out of these damn shoes.”

Not giving a rip about the rest of the ballroom, he took her hand, “I will get you out of those damn shoes as soon as I can.”

&&&&&&&&&

He definitely got her out of the damn shoes but not her clothes, as had crossed his mind at some point after the third Rum and Coke. Instead, she was standing, barefoot, in a calf-length, deep-blue dress, hair falling from that girly twist she’d done, debating the best aim for her last throw.

“Hey, Scully?”

“Yeah?”

“If you hit the 100, I’ll buy you a piece of pizza.”

“Get out your wallet.”

And buy he did, a whole pie actually, half for her, half for him and she treated to the pitchers of beer, “I love that this place has Skee-bal and $2 pitchers after 11.”

“Told you I knew just what you needed.”

Eyes twinkling at him over the edge of her glass, she took a long drink before, “it’ll do in a pinch.”

Well, geez.

He really didn’t need to hear that while she wore that dress with those painted toes exposed and up beside him on the booth, bottoms of her feet dirty, smooth legs …

“Ready for another game?”

Tapping his thigh with those same painted toes, “games are good but my feet are getting cold and I’ve been up since 5 this morning. I’d also really like to get out of this dress and into something in a nice purple plaid flannel.”

“Wool socks perhaps?”

Scrunching toes, she nodded, “yes, please.”

Soon in his car, he debated taking her back to the museum to get hers but seeing her falling asleep in the seat beside him, he nudged her arm, leaning in closer, not wanting to startle too much, “hey, why don’t I take you home and we’ll get your car in the morning?”

Barely registering words, English, surroundings, she burrowed into her coat, mumbling something he needed her to repeat, her lips practically touching his ear, “your place.”

“Scully?”

Suddenly awake, understanding her words and his, she sat up, shook her head, “um, sorry. Actually, if you just want to take me to my car, I’ll be fine to drive home.”

Not really sure what had twisted the gravity between them in the last four seconds, “I … I don’t … are you sure? A minute ago you were practically asleep.”

Embarrassment flooding over the last six hours of back and forth between them, she gave him a passing glance and refocused out the window again, “I’ll be fine.”

Slippery slope, uneven ground, unexplored territory, he put the car in drive, worried and just the slightest bit completely pissed off, “okay.”

&&&&&&&&&&

Dropping her off at her car, she called good-night over her shoulder, then, shutting the door, left him even more irritated and before he could decide to be a complete ass, she drove off without so much as a wave out the window.

He chewed on this for a few minutes, then, given time and talent for going off the deep end, he aimed the car in her direction, driving to her apartment automatically, pulling up and noticing, to his surprise, her sitting on the stoop in front of the main door. Not the warmest of nights, his irritation with her cooled with the temperature as he approached her, settled beside her, put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her against him, “what’s wrong with us?”

“Nothing … everything …” leaning in closer, “it’s too early for this conversation and I’m too tired to curb any revelatory confessions.” Moving to stand, “go home, Mulder. Thank you for shoeless Skee-bal and cheap beer but I need to go inside and get some sleep.”

“Why didn’t you go inside when you got home?”

“Because I knew you’d be coming and I didn’t want to have to deal with you at my own door.”

Irritation was beginning to simmer yet again, “deal with me? What about my having to deal with you? I ask you if you want me to bring you home and you freak out, jump out of the car, pretend you’re awake enough to drive? I just wanted to bring you home so you didn’t fall asleep and die trying to be all independent!”

“Both I and the neighbors would appreciate you not yelling anymore, thank you very much.”

Still looking up at her, he boiled over, “I am not yelling! Fuck,” realizing he might not have been yelling but he was indeed louder than a midnight dark street warranted, “I just wanted to make sure you got home all right.”

Giving him a long look from above, contemplating his tired countenance, she shut her eyes, debating the universe as a whole as it applied to her relationship with Mulder, “I got home fine but I’m not sure you will so come inside. I’ve got semi-warm socks and old sweatpants that have seen better decades and I stole from you three years ago anyway and you can have back in you really want.”

“I’m fine.”

Collaring him, she tugged back slightly, “don’t try to ‘I’m fine’ the queen of ‘I’m fining’ … would you just come inside?”

She could see the wheels churning then slowly grinding to a halt before, “why do we make things so hard?”

Now she ruffled through his hair before giving his skull a good squeeze, “easy is not in our nature.”

As he stood, “you’re telling me.”

&&&&&&&&&

Inside the door, closed and locked, bolted and braced against the outside world, she discarded her shoes, dropping her several inches lower, further from him, but unmoving otherwise, head tilted up to see him, “sleep or drink?”

“Liquor or water?”

“Water, Mulder, definitely water. The last thing we need to pour on the nightmare of us is alcohol.”

“We are not a nightmare, Scully. We are just an exhausted mess. There’s a difference.”

Half wishing water wasn’t the correct choice, “it’s a blurry difference at best.”

Pulling her towards him, he kissed her forehead, “if it were an hour earlier, I’d have demanded the liquor but now, I’d just like the socks and sweatpants, please.”

Scully took his hand, pulling him towards the bedroom, “this way.” Inner sanctum bedroom swathed in shadow, she dug up aforementioned clothing by feel alone, handing him pants, t-shirt and socks, “I threw in your Barney Rubble shirt for good measure.”

And they stood, statued, in the dark, handful of clothes between them until, in a hushed voice, edge of sleep sharp, “do you sleep in my clothes?”

Silent but steady, she walked backwards, dug under her pillow and without pretense, pulled a shirt over her head, groped herself for a moment, undid a zipper and a clasp, dress dropping to her feet. Stepping out of it, she returned in front of him, “yes.”

He studied his beloved rag of washed out cotton Big Bird shirt as it sloped over breast and hung to mid- thigh, “do you think about me when you’re falling asleep?”

She nodded.

“Do you dream about me after you have?”

Another nod.

She would hear him thinking fractured, speed of light thoughts but she waited, wondering which direction things would go, until, “I would like to say something but I’m not going to get it right but I’ll try so just … wait until I’m done, okay?”

Third nod made his heart pound.

But he managed words, “I have never seen you more beautiful than right now, wearing my shirt, naked underneath.” He bit his lip, stumbling over the word naked, “and I’d like to, in the future, come to the conclusion that this isn’t as hard as we make it out to be and the only thing wrong with us is the logic of two illogical idiots.”

Scully invaded his space enough to tug at the bottom of his dress shirt, unbuttoning quickly from waist to neck, “help me get your pajamas on and we can crawl into that bed behind me and sleep until we wake up. After that, we can talk but right now, Mulder, sleep.”

He let her drop his shirt to the floor and pull Barney Rubble over his head, smooth material over chest while Mulder undid buckle and belt, pants exchanged swiftly for sweat, dark socks for gray, “left side or right?”

“Left for now but I can’t guarantee I won’t end up in the middle.”

“Fair enough.” Once hunkered down, buried and burrowed, “Scully?”

“Yeah.”

Through layers of comforter and sheet, he found her face, eyes closing fast, finally moving to shift that section of hair from her eyelashes so he could see her clearly, “in the car, why did you say you wanted to go to my place?”

Before she could shut herself up, “because you have that nice, warm water bed and I was cold.” When he just lay there staring at her, she whispered another ‘g’night’ and drifted off, leaving him to wonder just where she would have made him sleep.


End file.
